


Cashmere

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 09:44:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21372115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Noctis orders a new suit.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 8
Kudos: 66





	Cashmere

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The shop is empty when Noctis arrives, because he always makes appointments: it isn’t so much a security issue, but simply that he wants the tailor all to himself. And he needs it to be that _particular_ tailor—no one else will do. He calls ahead to make sure that Ignis Scientia is working, and the manager assures him that not only will Ignis be on the floor, but he’ll be all _Noctis’_.

He’s waiting at the door when Noctis arrives, offering to take Noctis’ coat with a smooth smile on his lips. Noctis shrugs out of it and wades forward as Ignis leaves to put it on the hook. Noctis spares a few seconds skimming the rows of new items—fancy suits and fancier accessories, all things of fine quality and taste. But Noctis never gets things off the rack. He requires every item in his wardrobe to be custom made. It isn’t that he even cares about the fit, but that he wants that moment in front of the mirror with Ignis up behind him, slowly drawing the tape measure across his pliant body. 

He stops at the set of mirrors in the back when he’s ready, climbing onto the slightly raised pedestal, and Ignis is instantly at his side. Ignis already has the measuring tape, even though he’s taken Noctis measurements so many times that he must have them memorized. The second time that Noctis came, Ignis had demurely informed him that this ritual wasn’t necessary. Noctis had said to do it anyway. He proposed that perhaps something had changed. He’s a grown man, but everyone’s still growing—there could be slight differences. Far more importantly: _he wants Ignis’ hands on his body._

Ignis seems to understand that now. His smile is a subtle, knowing thing, his face poised but indulgent. He steps up behind Noctis, right onto the platform, flattening into Noctis’ back, close enough that Noctis can _feel_ him. Noctis’ breath hitches as Ignis’ arms snake around his middle, one hand smoothing across his stomach. Ignis purrs into his ear, “What colour would you like this time, Your Highness?”

“Black,” Noctis answers. It’s always black, except for the rare occasion where Ignis has suggested otherwise, and then Noctis listened—Noctis _always_ listens. He’d wear whatever Ignis told him. He’d _do_ whatever Ignis told him. Ignis is incredibly persuasive, seductive, suave—his talents seem wasted in a simple tailor shop. He should be on Noctis’ council, slickly directing the whole country. 

He seems content where he is. He must be on his way up to management. Occasionally, Noctis entertains fantasies of buying a whole new shop for him—letting him choose the location, the building, every aspect of its design—but then he reminds himself that Ignis Scientia is not a man who can be bought. Noctis needs to be appealing in other ways. He probably won’t ever match Ignis’ intellect. From the heated look in Ignis’ deep eyes, Noctis thinks his body’s at least pleasing enough. He needs more. He needs to be irresistible. He opens his mouth and wants to ask Ignis to a high-class restaurant for dinner.

Ignis drops gracefully to his knees and begins measuring around Noctis’ thighs, hands flattening the fabric of his pants against his skin. Ignis casually asks, “What kind of cut would you like for the pants, Your Highness?”

“Whatever you think is best,” Noctis answers, like usual. Ignis nods, as though he has the perfect cut already in mind. His face is perilously close to Noctis’ crotch, and he makes no effort to look away. Noctis can see himself blushing in the mirror and tries to swallow that down. There’s no sense looking as hopeless as he is. He holds his breath as Ignis’ talented fingers skim down the entire length of his left leg. He has no idea if that touch is necessary or not, and he doesn’t care. Ignis adjust the hem of his pant leg around his shoe, something that’s definitely unnecessary but very much appreciated. Anything that keeps Ignis on his knees longer is something Noctis supports. 

When Ignis does rise back up, he stands in front of Noctis, ridiculously close, his body heat enough to make Noctis dizzy. He finds himself staring at Ignis’ lips while Ignis murmurs, “I shall deliver your new suit to the Citadel myself, Your Highness.”

Noctis mumbles, “Thank you.”

Ignis lingers there, still smiling, as though he knows _exactly_ what kind of effect he has on his prince, and he’s savouring that power trip. Then he finally slips away, and Noctis can breathe again, though he doesn’t want to. Ignis walks Noctis to the door and even helps put his coat back on. 

Noctis pauses before he leaves. It’d be so _easy_, all he has to do is open his mouth and ask if they can meet again outside of these four walls. But Ignis’ beauty is intimidating, and Noctis says no more. 

Ignis says for him, “I hope to see you again soon, Your Highness. It is _always_ a pleasure.”

Noctis numbly nods. Then he retreats with another failure but at least a nice suit to show for it.


End file.
